


He That Believeth

by LaughableLament



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Community: spn_j2_xmas, Implied Past Wincest, M/M, Religious Content, SPN J2 Secret Santa, Season/Series 11, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 18:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5344313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A poisoned child. A fringe congregation. A monster of legend. Must be Wednesday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He That Believeth

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for **[steeplechasers](http://steeplechasers.livejournal.com/)**.
> 
> All hail **[crowroad3](http://crowroad3.livejournal.com/)** , magnificent and merciless beta.
> 
> Set in early Season 11. Assumes S11e01 takes place in the spring.

* * *

>   _Mark 16  
>  __17 And these signs shall follow them that believe; In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues;_  
>  _18 They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover._

Northwest Tennessee, down in the Big Sandy River bottoms. Miserable hot. Oppressive and still. Humid as a motherfucker too. Dean sees the edges of dark stains under Sam’s arms, sweated clean through his Fed jacket.

They climb the steps to an old but neat front porch. Rocking chairs, a swing. Rows of herbs in flower boxes all along the rails. Sam knocks on the screen door’s wooden frame. Dogs bark. Sound of footsteps. A woman appears.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.” Sam lays that dimpled charm on thick.

“How do.” She’s younger. Thirty, tops. Thick braid of mouse brown winds high above her head. Escaped strands trail over her shoulders, past her waist. She eyes them, veiled suspicion.

“Are you Beth Pritchett?”

She nods.

“I’m Agent Barrett,” Sam goes on, “and this is my partner, Agent Waters.” They flip open their ID cases.

She squints. “My husband ain’t home, Agents.”

“Oh that’s all right. May we come inside, talk to you a few minutes?”

The woman chews her lip. Fingers clutch at the skirt of her simple blue dress. “I’ll tell y’all what. We can set out back. Just head around through that gate over there and I’ll meet you.”

“Of course,” Sam smiles.

“Oh and mind the dogs,” she adds. “They ain’t mean but they’re nosy with strangers. Just take care and don’t let ’em out of the yard.”

Dean winces. It’s not that he hates dogs, it’s just… He _was_ actually eaten by hellhounds once.

They follow a path of concrete circles to the gate of a four-foot chain link fence. Sam wrangles the dogs – a big black lab and some kind of beagle mix, all tongues and tails and fur that sticks to their pant legs.

Out back, laundry dangles limp from a line: baby clothes all the way up to men’s work shirts. Door bangs open and kids pour out. The oldest girl, maybe fourteen, holds a little one on her hip and guides a slightly less little one by the hand. Two boys bump and shove, another girl trailing behind. At last the preacher’s wife appears, a tiny infant in a carrier.

“Forgive me, Agents.” She gestures toward a weathered picnic table under a maple tree. “My kids took a spell to round up.” Her eyes flick across the yard. “Miriam! You keep them babies in the shade, you hear?”

“Yes, Mama.”

These are _all_ her kids? Jesus.

“You have a lovely family,” Sam’s saying.

She ducks her head but smiles. “The Lord’s seen fit to bless the pastor and me.” The baby starts to cry. “Shh, David.” Beth cradles him to her chest. “I’m so sorry, Agents, I – ”

“No, no. Please. Take your time.” Dean interrupts.

She sways and bounces, softly singing.

“He’s got the whole world, in His hands…”

David settles down pretty quick, considering. The girl Miriam plays patty-cake and peep-eye with her brother and sister under a willow. The oldest boys chase and wrestle the dogs while the middle girl chases them. Laughter and squealing. Chaos.

Dean’s head aches. And here’s Beth, a picture of serenity.

“He should sleep a while now,” she murmurs at last, still rocking.

“Do you know why we’re here, Mrs. Pritchett?” Sam asks.

“Well I figure it’s on account of poor little Andrew.”

Sam’s working that earnest face. “We understand his family attends your church.”

“Yessir.”

“We’re so sorry for your loss. The death of a child…”

Beth offers up a sad smile. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ’bout, Agent. The boy rests with the Heavenly Father now.”

Dean squirms. “Do you know what happened to him?”

“Snake bit, I heard tell. Somethin’ there wasn’t no anti-venom for.”

“Mrs. Pritchett,” Sam says carefully. “We’ve heard your church practices – ”

“Snake-handling,” Dean breaks in.

Sam shoots him a look.

“It’s true. We believe the takin’ up of serpents is an act of faith.”

“Did Andrew have experience with snakes?”

“Oh mercy, no!” David stirs; Beth soothes him. “The children don’t attend those services. They go to Children’s Church with the nursin’ and expectin’ mothers.”

“Elizabeth!” A male voice booms. The baby wails.

“Out back, Pastor!” Beth calls, tries to shush little David.

“Dad!” squeals the oldest boy, makes a beeline for the back door, brother hot on his heels.

Beth stands. Dean and Sam follow suit. A freakin’ mountain of a man steps out, runs a giant hand through one son’s hair. “Joshua.” He lifts the other onto his hip. “Eli. You boys been good for your mama?”

“Yessir,” they say in unison. Makes Dean’s chest clench.

The preacher’s older than Dean expected. Forty-five, maybe fifty. Bigger, too, probably taller than Sam. Clean-shaven but tanned and weathered. Barrel chest pulls at his shirt buttons.

He gives his visitors an icy look. “Who’s our company, Beth?”

David bawls. “Pastor, please meet Agents Barrett and Waters. They’re here about Andrew.”

Sam and Dean produce their badges.

“FBI, huh? And what’s the federal government’s interest in this tragedy?”

Sam’s shoulders pull back a fraction. “Andrew Long died under strange circumstances, Pastor. We want to make sure no other families lose – ”

“And what’s your business with my wife?” He crosses the lawn and curls his arm, possessive, around Beth’s waist. The kids stand around. Silent, watching.

Dean bristles. “Considering how Andrew died, and your church’s – practices – ”

“We have a First Amendment in this country, Agents. And a Fourth. I’ll not have y’all interferin’ with my congregation or my family.”

Sam spreads his palms. “No interference intended, sir. Just pursuing the facts.”

“Well the only fact y’all need to concern yourselves with, is you’re on my property. Without my permission. I trust you can see yourselves off. Wife. Children.”

The family files toward the door, somber. Even the baby stops crying. Dean’s fists clench at his sides.

“Of course, sir. Thank you for your time.” Sam’s polite, but there’s iron in it.

_Attaboy._

They head for the car. Gate screeches behind them.

“Well. _He’s_ hiding something.” Dean strips his jacket and lays it across the back seat. Black car, Tennessee summer. Gives Hell a run for its money.

Sam does the same. His dress shirt clings in a U all down his back. “Or he’s just protective. You know how Dad got when authorities came sniffing around our family.”

“Right,” Dean scoffs. “’Cause we had _nothin’_ to hide.”

Sam shrugs. “Well, at least we know Andrew wasn’t bitten at church. His parents weren’t lying.”

“Not about that, anyway,” Dean mutters. “Let’s head out to the hospital, huh? See if we can tell anything from the body.”

Doors slam and the engine growls.

The hospital is twenty miles away, across the Kentucky state line in Murray. It’s a cherry drive: two-lane blacktop, low hills and sweeping curves. Often as not the trees grow right up to the edge of the road, canopy stretching all the way across in places. Creeping vines climb up and over power poles, drip off the lines. Tearing ass through a big green tunnel, almost.

Dean flies. Throws sneaky glances at his brother. Well. As sneaky as possible when Sam knows all his moves. Sam smiles a little, glances up to meet his eyes, stretches his arm across the seat back. Dean can feel his brother’s warmth on his neck. Sam’s foot even taps along with the radio, and how long’s it been since that happened?

“Think we should go Fed or CDC?” Sam asks as they pull into the hospital lot.

“CDC, don’t you think?”

Sam digs in the glove box. “Yeah. Doctors’ll be more open with their own.”

“So smart, Sammy.” He chucks his brother’s shoulder. “Somebody trained you right.”

“Um, yeah.” Sam’s lips quirk. “Dad.”

Dean clutches his heart. “You wound me.”

“Uh-huh.” He hands over the right ID. “You’re a sensitive soul.” He’s got a mocking tone going on but he doesn’t hide his doe eyes. “C’mon. Let’s do this.”

Doctor Grant McHenry had been on call the night Andrew came in. He sits, a closed file on his desk. “Never seen anything like it in twenty-two years.” His brows draw down. “Neurotoxicity, cytotoxicity… worst lymphangitis I ever saw.”

He produces a photo. A leg. Lurid red lines trail away from two wicked-looking punctures, surrounding skin yellow and swollen.

“Figured a timber rattler’d got ahold of the boy, so we gave him CroFab, put him on a ventilator.” McHenry takes off his glasses. Rubs the bridge of his nose. “Didn’t make a lick of difference. The venom was hemotoxic too. He bled out faster than we could pump units into him.” Another photo. Andrew, intubated. Blood streams from his eyes and nose.

“What’s your best guess, for what bit him?” Sam dutifully takes notes, as if the doctor’s information helps them at all.

“Couldn’t say.” He shakes his head. “Nobody saw what did it. And the pathology looked like, three or four different snakes.”

“Any chance we can take a look at the body?” Dean asks.

“Afraid not,” the doc says. “Family went to court to have him released. Religious reasons.”

“That figures,” Dean mutters.

“You could get a court order, maybe, for exhumation. But I’ve got toxicology reports, tissue analysis. Probably nothing in the body you can’t get from those anyway.”

“You’re probably right,” Sam says. “Can you set us up with copies?”

“Sure enough.” McHenry stands. “Stop by the nurses’ station. I’ll call down and tell them to print out whatever you need.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Sam shakes the man’s outstretched hand.

Dean follows suit. “If you think of anything else…”

“I’ve got your card, Doctor Lane. And don’t hesitate to call me if you have more questions.” McHenry frowns. “I’d sure like to know what happened to that boy. It’s not right, a kid that young.”

Dean agrees.

They check into a motel there in Murray. Sam digs into hospital records while Dean hits up a pizza place.

“Got anything?” Dean drops the pizza on Sam’s bed, pops a six-pack in the mini-fridge.

“Nothing useful.” Sam leans back from the rickety table, rubs his eyes. “Basically all this says is, everybody’s stumped.”

“You sure it ain’t just a, I dunno, black mamba or somethin’?” Dean cracks a couple of beers and settles at the foot of the bed. “Those Church of God wingnuts might’ve smuggled in anything.”

“First of all, you’ve only even heard of a black mamba from _Kill Bill_.” Sam wheels the desk chair over and takes a bottle. “Second, no. The toxins they found don’t match any known snake in the world.”

“So we still thinkin’ hydra?” Dean snags a slice of pepperoni and extra cheese. He did the half-and-half thing with the pizza. Sam’s side is loaded up with mushrooms and olives and shit. Because he’s an awesome brother.

Sam notices, flash of a grin. “I don’t think so. Hydras live in water.”

“Yeah but the river’s like, _right there_.”

“Except the kid was nowhere near the river when he was bitten.” A dainty nibble of pizza and, “Oh my God. This is fantastic.”

“Right?” Dean’s starting his second slice already. “All the nurses swore by it.”

“You have a gift.”

“I have many gifts.” _Which you damn well know._

“Anyway. I’m thinking basilisk.”

“A basilisk? Don’t those have like, a chicken’s head or something?”

“You’ve been playing too many video games, dude.”

“Blow me.”

Sam’s nostrils flare, blink-and-you’d-miss-it. He swallows. “Earliest descriptions just called it a giant serpent.”

“Okay.”

“And there’s this.” Sam swivels to look at the laptop. Reads. “‘It destroys all shrubs, not only by its contact, but those even that it has breathed upon; it burns up all the grass, too, and breaks the stones…’”

His brother is a goddamn genius. “The dead plants at the Longs’ house.”

“And crumbling foundation.”

At the time, he’d written it off as shitty maintenance. “Okay, so step one, we find the thing. Step two, we gank it.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Sam deadpans.

“Well yeah. I mean, it kills everything it touches, right? So we follow the path of destruction and boom!”

“Except, its breath is toxic, bite is deadly, and some legends say it can kill you with eye contact.”

“Oh.” He laughs weakly. “I knew a stripper once who could do that.”

Sam rolls his eyes so hard he probably sees his brain. Clicks the laptop some more. “This says its natural enemies are the weasel and the cock.” He whips around. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“And if it sees its own reflection it’ll die of fright.”

“So we go all Perseus on its ass?”

Sam shakes his head but grins. “What I can’t figure out,” back to business, “is how the church is mixed up with this.”

“I know. We gotta make another run at Beth.”

“I dunno, man. You met that pastor. What do you think are the chances he doesn’t have an arsenal?”

“And we got what, a fuckin’ toy box?”

“Two words, Dean. Ruby. Ridge.” He comes with the puppy eyes. “You really wanna put those kids in danger?”

“Fine, fine.” Dean spreads his palms. “You up for a little B and E? Might be an office at the church. Some kinda inventory?”

Sam nods. “I like it better than storming the pastor’s house.” He gets up. Stacks and stuffs research into his bag. “If we’re going full felony tonight, I’m gonna catch a couple hours.”

Dean nods. “Mind if I use your laptop?”

Sam bristles. “Just keep the anti-virus on this time.”

“It was blocking the boobs!”

“Dean…”

“All right, all right.” He snickers. Never gonna get too old to wind his brother up.

Dean ditches his suit for jeans. Stretches across his bed while Sam grabs a shower. Hiss of the water comforts him. He misses this, in the Bunker, knowing every second where Sam is, what he’s up to. Kinda misses Sam marching around in a towel too. Even though he hasn’t really done that since he got his soul back.

God, he might as well be twenty years old again. Goofy-lookin’ baby brother suddenly shot up, filled out. Parading around in too-tight shirts and using those dimples like a fuckin’ weapon. Peekin’ out from under his stupid hair.

Except, it ain’t like that at all now. Now Sam stoops like a guy three times his age and _I-dare-you_ has turned into _please-don’t-hurt-me_. Sam’s hands… twitch sometimes. Like he wants to touch but he chickens out. Turns his guts to acid every time, ’cause it’s his fault Sam’s so skittish.

Ahh, fuck this. He flops over, punches his pillow a couple of times and tries to shut his damn brain off. Doesn’t look up when Sam’s done with his shower. Doesn’t want to see Sam dressed, hair dripping dark on his t-shirt. Doesn’t think about why Sam does that now.

It’s still light out when Sam’s phone rings, and what the hell? He slings his feet to the floor, rubs his eyes. Takes him a minute to process, he’s not hearing an alarm. It’s Sam’s burner.

“Agent Barrett.” Sam’s brows draw down.

“Yessir.

“No, no, it’s okay, just… Tell me what happened.

“I understand. And I’m so sorry. We’re on our way.

“Of course. We’re actually in Murray now, so we’ll meet you there.

“Yessir.”

Sam’s voice goes soft. “I am. I will.”

Dean’s tying his boot laces. “What’s the crisis?” It’s always a crisis. “Another attack?”

“Yeah.” Sam looks stricken. “Miriam Pritchett.”

“Dammit. Why’s it gotta go after the kids?” He could kill the fucker barehanded. “I’m callin’ Cas.”

“Good. Good,” Sam says. “You think he can get here in time?”

“I dunno but it’s the best we got. Unless you found an antidote.”

Sam jerks his head. “Haven’t even looked. We got so focused on the hydra theory…” He swallows.

“Hey. Hey…” He grabs his brother by the shoulder. Holds his eyes. “Listen, man. The guilt thing? That’s my act, okay?”

Sam nods, tight-lipped.

“I’ll pack. You dress. We got time before the family gets here. Anybody can come up with a miracle, it’s you.”

Sam’s smile hits him like a knife in the chest. “Thank you.”

“Shut up and get to work.” He gives Sam’s arm a punch when he lets go. Pays no mind to the tingle in his palm.

Thank fuck for shift change. It’d be a bitch explaining why the family thinks they’re FBI and the hospital thinks they’re doctors. They go Fed, get Sam set up on the Wi-Fi while Dean paces outside the emergency room.

EMT’s pull Miriam out of an ambulance, pale and trembling on a gurney. Beth is with her, holding her hand and muttering… something. Doesn’t sound like English. The pastor appears, David screaming from a stroller and the other kids clinging to each other, eyes wet.

“Agent.” Pastor Pritchett acknowledges him, rough-voiced and strung out.

“Pastor.”

The big man licks his lips. “Please call me Burt. I’m so sorry for the way I acted – ”

Dean holds up a hand as he falls in step toward the entrance. “Stop. I understand. Believe me.”

Sam stands when he spots them.

Dean goes on. “Listen, ah. You should go be with your wife. Your daughter. Sam and I can take the kids – ”

“To the chapel,” Sam finishes.

Burt’s shoulders damn near crumble. “Thank you, Agents.”

“Right now I’m Sam. And this is Dean.” He reaches for the stroller. Nods, “Go.”

Dean takes a knee in front of the oldest boy. “You’re Joshua, right?”

The kid’s eyes look like freakin’ saucers. “Yessir.”

“My name’s Dean.” He sticks out his hand. The kid shakes it, tentative. “I’m gonna tell you something, Joshua. I’m a big brother, just like you. So I know you’d do anything for your sister, right?”

“Yessir.” Skinny shoulders stiffen.

“Good man. Okay. Now what Miriam needs most of all is for the rest of you to be safe. So me and Sam, we’re gonna take you guys down to the chapel. And you’re gonna help us look after the little ones, okay?”

Joshua sticks out his chin. “Yes, sir.”

“All right then. Let’s go.” Dean stands. Puts the smallest girl on his hip and grins when the middle girl wraps around his leg.

“I’m Ruth,” she says, all sass and smarts. “I wanna help too.”

“You got it, Ruth.” He’s not looking at Sam’s aw-shucks face. He points. “Your little brother there…”

“Jacob.”

“Right. Jacob. He’s gonna need his big sister to hold his hand, okay?”

A solemn nod. She takes a hold of little Jacob and her other brother – Eli, Dean thinks – grabs Jacob’s other hand.

“We ready?” Dean asks the brood.

“Yes, sir,” Joshua says.

“Sammy? You wanna lead this procession?”

Sam nods. Slings his bag over his shoulder and heads down the hall with the stroller. Dean brings up the rear.

“And what’s your name?” he asks the toddler in his arms. She babbles. Bats his face.

Jacob turns back. “At’s Baby Naomi.”

“Good save, buddy.” He winks.

The hospital chapel is mercifully empty. Dean sets up the kids along the front pew.

“We gonna pray for Mimi?” Ruth asks.

Sam speaks up. “I think that’s a great idea, Ruth.”

Joshua jumps right in to lead the prayer. Dean gestures at Sam. They hit the hallway.

“Any luck on the antidote?”

“Not yet,” Sam says. “Unless you count the phoenix tears from Harry Potter.”

A flat look. “Seriously?”

“I know.” Sam slumps.

“Well right now I wanna go talk to the nurses. Find out what I can about Miriam. Make sure everybody’s clear where the kids are.”

“Good call.”

“You cool to stay here and...”

“Pray?”

“I was gonna say babysit.”

“I can multitask.”

He can’t help the smile he gives Sam right then. Even though Sam kinda flinches from it. “Go on, God-boy. Go pray. I’ll be back in a flash and you can get back to researching.”

He finds Burt at the nurses’ station, pale and drawn. The man almost looks small.

“Pastor Burt?”

“Agent Dean.”

A ghost of a smile passes between them. Truce ratified.

“They throwed me outta Mimi’s room. Said only one of us could stay and a girl needs her mama.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“Ain’t nobody much knows, ’cept maybe Joseph.” He clenches his teeth. “We was over to the Longs to visit, offerin’ prayers and comfort. All the kids was out playin’ in the yard, and…” He draws a hitchy breath. “We heard screamin’ and hollerin’. Smacked right into Ruthie as I’s goin’ for the back door. Her and Eli’d drug the little ones into the house. By time I got outside, Mimi was down and Joseph was huddled over her.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You think it was the thing what killed little Andrew?”

“Kinda looks that way.”

They stand there, study the floor for a minute.

“Pastor. Is there anything you can tell me about the Longs’ house? Why there’d be… an exotic snake hanging around?”

Burt sighs heavy, burdened. “Mark Long’s our congregation’s wrangler. He keeps an outbuilding overt’ the edge of his property for the snakes.” He shakes his head. “Brother Mark got in his mind he needed somethin’ other’n what he could catch ’round these parts. Took to messin’ with cobras and such, buyin’ eggs illegal off the Internet.”

Well that’s fantastic. Part two of this job’s gonna be finding out who’s selling fucking basilisk eggs to farmers. And kicking their ass.

A doctor appears, asks for Mr. Pritchett.

“Go,” Dean says. “You think of anything else that might help, I’ll be in the chapel.”

Burt bows his head. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Just doing my job. Now you, go do yours.”

Dean’s halfway into the chapel when he hears Sam.

“God? Please look out for Miriam, her brothers and sisters, and her folks.” He clears his throat. “We’re all a little scared right now but we know you’re watching over us.”

Wow, Sammy. Way to lie to the kids.

“And please look out for Dean.”

For real?

“He can be a little… rough sometimes, I know. But he’s good. One of the best. Please give him, all of us, your strength and comfort. And well… That’s all, I guess. Amen.”

“You gotta ask in Jesus’ name!” That’s gotta be Ruth.

Sam grins. “In Jesus’ name.”

A chorus of “Amen” in tiny voices.

Sam looks up, swallows hard when he spots Dean in the doorway. He cocks an eyebrow but halfway smiles. Sam lets out a breath.

“So-uh,” Sam looks around, at a loss.

“You guys like to draw?” Dean asks.

Wide eyes and nods.

“Sam here’s got some pens and paper in his bag, I bet.”

Sam’s on his feet in a flash. So clearly grateful for a project Dean almost laughs. The kids spread out around the room, apparently no strangers to this kind of thing.

“Hey, Joshua. Can I talk to you a minute?” Dean cocks his head and the boy follows him into the hall. “I just talked to your dad. He says you might’ve seen the thing that bit Miriam.”

The kid trembles. “Yessir.”

“You think you can draw it? Help us figure out what it was?”

“Will it help Mimi?”

“Yeah. I think it will.”

“Okay.” There’s that stubborn little chin again. “I’ll do my best.”

Dean messes up the kid’s hair. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about. C’mon.”

They wait. Joshua draws a nasty sucker, vertical for half its length. Big triangular head, with what looks like three stubby horns. A friggin’ nightmare.

Cas calls. He stole a car but he’s still a good eight hours out.

Dean’s pacing a hole in the carpet.

Beth comes around. Takes David off to feed and change him, and thank fuck for that. Says she’s called her sister; they’ll be off child care detail within the hour.

“How’s Miriam?” Sam asks.

“She’s strugglin’, but she’s strong.” Beth looks up. “She’s in God’s hands. All we can do is pray.”

Sam squeezes her arm and assures her they will.

A volunteer stops in, all blue hair and smile lines above her striped smock. She brings coffee and Dean kinda wants to kiss her for it. She offers to come back with blankets, says the kids can sleep there in the chapel. He considers it. They’re up too late and cranky as Hell, but their aunt’s on her way so…

“Dean!” Sam’s voice is soft but urgent.

“You find something?”

“God I hope so.” He hands the laptop over.

“The antidote?”

“Antidote?” Beth’s voice. David’s sound asleep in her arms. “But the doctor said – ”

Dean eyes his brother: _You wanna handle this?_

Sam sits her down. Starts in on the Truth-Is-Out-There speech. She takes it surprisingly well.

“So what bit my girl, killed Andrew… is a monster.”

“A basilisk.”

“Like a demon.”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Sammy?” Dean stares at the antidote recipe. “I think we can do this. All this stuff’s in the car except for the venom and… What’s herb-o-grace?”

“Common rue,” Sam and Beth say together.

Dean blinks.

“You know where we can get some?” Sam asks.

“I do.” Beth nods. “I grow it on my porch.”

They’ve burned another hour by the time they get the kids packed in the pastor’s van, their aunt behind the wheel. Twenty more minutes back to Tennessee, half an hour to clear the surviving members of the Long family out of their house. If Miriam progresses like Andrew, she’s got maybe five hours left.

Cas won’t be here for six. They’ve gotta gank this fucker.

Gearing up means coveralls over their jeans. Their tallest, sturdiest boots. Layered long sleeves and heavy work gloves. Fuckin’ respirators. So maybe it’s overkill. But he’ll be damned again if after all they’ve lived through, some kinda Thulsa Doom freak’s gonna take ’em down.

One last deep breath inside the Longs’ back door. Sam’s eyes. Respirators up and they push out into the yard. Burned brown grass probably used to be a nice lawn. Yellow porch light adds to the sallow, sickly feel. Perimeter sweep. Dead leaves crunch under their feet, all wrong for the season. A vegetable garden, rotted and ruined. Past the fence, the cornfield’s edge. Three or four rows all shriveled up.

Dean’s flashlight finds a trail of destruction leading off into the field. They hop the fence, go slow. Sam prods the ground with a snare pole, on loan from Mark’s snake-catching kit. Dean’s machete glimmers. They listen.

Sweatin’ like a whore in church but Dean’s glad for the absence of wind. Silent. Spooky out here in the rows. No birds. First rustle they hear is a field mouse. Black glittery eyes flash half a second as it dashes across their path. _Yeah. Better scoot on outta here, little buddy. You probably look like a Buffalo wing to this fucker._

Fork in the path. Sam’s got their spray paint. Ball bearings sound like thunder when he shakes it up, sprays down an arrow. They follow it. Dean’s shoulders tighten, breathing shallows. Hands get clammy in his gloves.

Tickle at the back of his neck has him turning around, slow. He sweeps behind them with his flashlight. Movement? Sam nudges him. Slips off the path, hunkered down in what’s left of the healthy corn.

Not a sound, and it takes him a second to grasp what he’s seeing. Stalks, shriveling right in front of him, collapsing. Coming his way. He backs down the path, puts some distance on Sam’s position.

Now he hears it. Whoosh of cornstalks hitting the ground. Trains his light on the advancing death. Fucker’s quick. Be in the open any second and –

 _Fuck!_ He loses the trail. Son of a bitch broke through to the existing path and now he can’t track it. Sweeps his light. Too dark, too quiet, goddamn thing too camouflaged. There? A flicker, nothing certain. Shifting leaves, closer. Maybe…

And like something out of a Clive Barker fever dream the basilisk rises. Belly scales shimmer. Jaws stretch like a cottonmouth. Fangs drip. Holy shit.

Dean backs up a little quicker now. Needs to get this thing in between him and Sam, preferably without getting bit. He waves the light around, keeps its attention on him, keeps it coming. It picks up speed. He’s just about to turn and full-on bolt when its head draws back. A bone-chilling hiss and it lunges.

Spits.

Dean’s arm flies up to protect his eyes. Smells… sharp. Like chemical fire. Side of his head lights up with pain but he forces a look. _Shit._ Coveralls smoke where the venom hit. Cloth splits and curls like a cigarette burn.

The basilisk hauls ass toward him, in for the kill. Dean rears his blade back. Hopes he’ll get lucky.

_Wait for it._

_Wait for it._

The head snaps back. Snake hisses in rage. Body flops and twitches.

Sam.

Snare looped around the creature’s neck he drives it to the ground. Forked end of the pole digs hard into the ruined corn. It spits again, fruitless. Smoke curls up, drifts, stings their eyes.

Dean brings down the machete. Neatly severs the head from the body. Both keep moving, body flailing and head snapping at the air. Sam skewers the head to the ground with a long stiletto.

“Dean!”

He’s a long ways off. Kid must’ve run, and what the fuck? Then everything goes sideways.

“Dean!”

Sam’s closer now but still sounds wrong. Ears full of cotton. Sam’s jerking, tugging on him. _Dude. It’s cool. Just, lemme rest here for a second._

Water. Right in the face. _What the hell, man? I ain’t no demon anymore._

More pulling. World is right way up again but he’s too damned tired to lift his head. Feels it wobble and roll while Sam rips at his clothes.

_I like where your head’s at, Sammy but your timing sucks._

Sam goes still. Just for a second before he’s dragging off Dean’s coveralls.

“Stay with me, Dean. Stay with me.”

Again with the water. Startin’ to piss him off.

“It’s not bad. It’s not bad.”

Then he’s full-on upside down with a front-row view of Sam’s sweet ass.

“Yours ain’t so bad yourself.” A light smack on his butt.

_Kinky fucker._

“You’d know.”

Heh. It’s kinda hot, Sam hauling him off like a sack of potatoes. Reassuring. Thought for a while there Sam might never get all his strength back from the Trials. No worries about that now. Wonders if they’ve got too old to…

He wakes up to a voice he can’t place right away.

“Because thou hast made the Lord, which is my refuge, even the most High, thy habitation;  
There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling.  
For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.”

White. Bright. Antiseptic. Pinch in his arm. Fire down one side of his face and neck. Warm rough palm against his, tiny hand on the other side.

“Our Heavenly Father we thank thee for thy blessings and thy healing Grace. We plead the blood of the Lord Jesus Christ over Dean, thy child and servant – ”

Boy. Is this pastor delusional.

“and we ask for thy hand of protection over him and his brother Sam.” His voice drops to a near whisper. “Thank you, Father, for sending them here, for holding and keeping them. Thank you for guiding their hands in saving my Miriam.”

Dean likes him.

“We ask, Dear Lord, for thy mercy, thy continued blessings of healing and comfort over our brother Dean, and my daughter Miriam. All this we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

“Amen.” Sam’s hand squeezes tight.

“Amen.” Ruth rubs his arm in a circle.

The next time he comes to it’s from that warm-water sensation of angel healing.

“Dean.” Cas smiles as his eyes flutter open.

“Heya, Cas. How was the trip?”

A flat look. “Necessary.”

“How’s the girl?”

“Miriam will be fine. The damage to her body was extensive though. I’ll need to stay a few days to complete her healing.”

Dean nods. “Thanks for comin’, man.”

“I’m always here for you, Dean. We all are.”

His jaws clench. “Yeah.” And speaking of, “Where’s Sam?”

“He’s with the Pritchetts. I’ll go tell him you’re awake. I believe he’s growing uncomfortable with their fawning.”

That sounds about right. “Thanks, Cas.”

Priority one is finding pants. Hospital gown is not a good look for Dean Winchester. God bless whoever brought his in duffle – and crap. He’s startin’ to sound like the locals. He gets his jeans pulled up and finds a shirt. Head pops through the collar and there’s Sam, frozen in the doorway. Wide eyes flick up to Dean’s and he draws back. Caught.

Sam squints a fraction. “Hey. How you feelin’?”

“Aces.” Doesn’t quite make a show of zipping up.

Sam tracks his movement. “So, uh.” Hand runs through his hair. “Mark Long brought up his laptop. Think I’ve got a lead on the seller.”

“Nice work, man.” Smile then. Big-brother proud. For once Sam doesn’t flinch.

“Yeah, well, while you were napping some of us stuck to the job.”

“Yeah, well, while some of us were hiding other people had to be bait.” He turns, looks back over his shoulder. “Ain’t no monster could resist this ass.”

Sam drops his head and laughs. “You know, serpents are powerful symbols of _male_ sexuality.”

Shrug. “I appeal to a broad demographic. Ain’t a bad thing, Sammy.” He watches his brother’s Adam’s apple bob.

“I’m really glad you’re okay.” Soft.

“I’m better than okay. I’m perfect. C’mon. Let’s go find this monster dealer.”

They stop off at Miriam’s room. Say their goodbyes. A firm handshake for Joshua.

“You did good, kid. You’re an awesome brother.”

Ruth winds around him like a tiny octopus. “Bye, Brother Dean.”

He pats her head and pretends not to see the dewy look his brother shoots him.

Hugs for Beth and a promise she’ll remember them in prayer.

Pastor Burt follows them out. “Ah, Agents.” A rueful grin. “Fellas. Whatever. Listen.” All business again. “What you boys do. It’s God’s work. You understand?”

Sam looks like the guy gave him a medal. “We do our best.”

“And when you do God’s work, you draw attention from forces of darkness.”

“Don’t I know it.” Dean mutters.

Burt draws a breath. “There’s a darkness comin’ boys. These are the End Times.”

 _Not if I can help it_ but he keeps that to himself.

“I see it, sometimes, when the Spirit moves. Beth, she’s seen it too.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Few years back, right after Ruthie was born, well… We thought we was seein’ Armageddon. Earthquakes, floods, y’all remember.”

_You don’t know the half of it._

“Now though… Whatever’s comin’? Gonna make Armageddon look like a Sunday picnic.” Burt shivers slightly. So does Dean. “Y’all just look after yourselves, you hear? We’ll be prayin’ for you.”

“Thank you, Pastor.” Aaaand there’s that haunted look. Something Sam’s not telling him but he ain’t got a leg to stand on there so –

“Thanks, Burt.”

The snake dealer’s in Florida, of course, because they haven’t sweated out their friggin’ organs yet. Dean points them south on 641, windows down and the radio up. They stop this side of Auburn, little roadside dive with a Waffle House across the way. He swings into the parking lot.

“Up and at ‘em, little brother. Found us some fine American cuisine.”

Sam’s jaw cracks on a yawn. He squints against the glowing yellow sign. “Seriously?”

“Smothered hash browns, Sam. God. How are we even related?”

Breakfast-for-dinner, and even the waitress pulls a face at Sam’s egg white omelet and wheat toast. Dean gets the All-Star Special. Extra bacon. Just getting dark as they’re settling into their digs for the night.

“Still say we should’ve torched that snake house. Just on principle.”

“Why? To punish them? They’re not evil, Dean. Just – ”

“Stupid? ’Cause I gotta tell you, Sammy. It’s a thin line between evil genius and dangerous idiot.”

“It’s not stupid. Having faith.”

“Yeah but that Mark guy…”

“Okay, so he got stupid. But you didn’t see him this morning. I promise you, he’s learned his lesson.” Sam’s all sad sympathy. “He lost his son. He has to live with that.”

Damn that kid. Gonna be knocking him flat with the puppy eyes in the old folks’ home. If they last that long. “Yeah, okay.” Little hip check. “C’mon. Grab a beer. Cubs are playin’ the Giants.”

He cops a squat in the middle of the couch. Springs squall. “Ha! Five-two. You bitches’re goin’ down!”

Sam pops their longnecks. “There’s five innings left, dude. Don’t get cocky.” Kicks at Dean’s ankle. “Shove over.”

Dean does, some. Sam jams against the armrest like he’s tryin’ to break it off. Their smack-talk tapers as the outs roll by.

“I get it, y'know.” Joel Murray sings the seventh inning stretch.

Sam’s head tilts, questioning.

“The God thing.”

“Dean…”

“’M serious.” He gestures at the TV with his beer. “It’s like the Cubs.”

Sam presses his lips into a line.

“Just, just hear me out, okay? Some years, they’re great. And you get excited, like, _maybe_. And some years, they suck. But you think, _next year_. And even though you never get that big payoff, you stick with ’em. ’Cause you’re part of something.” He licks his lips, tips up his beer. “You hope.”

Sam huffs. Not quite a laugh. Shakes his head. “That’s deep.” He cuts his eyes up, teasing. “For you.”

“Shaddup.”

Sam sticks out his bottle. They clink.

Cubs win.

Come morning Dean’s up before the sun. They leave now they won’t have to drive through the hottest part of the day. He loads up while Sam checks out.

Doors slam. The engine growls. And this time, when Sam’s arm stretches cross the seat, he rests his palm on the back of Dean’s neck.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Mark 16:1
> 
> The passage Pastor Burt reads is Psalm 91:9-11


End file.
